Modern Warfare: Blood Brothers
by ReadyFireAimEmission
Summary: Once brothers with a common goal, they tried to fight to change the course of history. One an extremist, the other a quiet but loyal soldier. This is their past, and how it shaped both their futures.
1. Dust to Dust

_"How quickly they forget, that all it takes to change the course of history, is a single man..."_

Vladimir Makarov's mind was working at a pace that even he had trouble keeping up with. The sounds of gunfire downstairs were getting closer and closer, and it was only a matter of time before they reached him. They would be close, but he was always one step ahead of them. He always was.

Anatoly appeared through the doorway behind him. "They've made it through the lobby!" He cried. "We need to get you out of here now!"

"I understand." Makarov said, not keeping his eyes off the computer screen in front of him. He continued to work calmly as he deleted countless files, wiping the hard drive so no infomation could be used against him.

More shots were heard, this time closer. Anatoly clutched his sidearm close to him, constantly checking the hallway.

"We're going to be cornered if we don't move now!" Anatoly said, panic in his voice.

"Done." Makarov declared, standing over the computer. With a final keystroke, all infomation concerning his operations had been erased. Nothing would be of use to Price now, and it would take him months before he could ever find a solid lead on him again.

"Great. Wonderful. Now we need to move!" Anatoly urged.

Makarov calmly nodded and grabbed his five-seven and suitcase off the table nearby. He walked at a fast pace side by side with Anatoly down the hallway, heading towards the elegant penthouse suite. Hotel Oasis had been such a quiet and serene place. It felt somewhat strange to Makarov to wake up everyday in such a richly decorated place. No doubt that strangeness was caused by his lifestyle he chose. Nevertheless, he had no qualms leaving such a place behind.

A group of armed guards rushed by, heading downstairs as Makarov entered the penthouse. Sitting in the center was a young woman with dark, thick hair. Her hands wrapped around her arms, almost trying to shield herself from the chaos happening around her. Her dark, hazel eyes locked with his, and she rushed over to greet him.

"Sister..." Makarov said quietly, embracing her gently.

"Vladimir, whats going on? Why is there gunfire?" Nina Makarov asked, looking up at her brother. "The guards, I've heard them on the radio, they say two men-"

"They're here for me." Makarov explained to her, holding her by the shoulders. "I've already planned for this, everything is all right."

Her eyes stared into his. He tried to read them. It was easy enough. She didn't believe him. Not a word.

"I'm getting you out of here." He said, still aware of the gunfire in the floors below them. "Theres a helicopter waiting for you on the roof. Anatoly will take you-"

"Why aren't you coming with us?" She asked, confusion in her eyes.

"I'll be right behind." Makarov assured her. "A second helicopter is here. I'll be on it once I've taken care of-

"Leave them!" Nina demanded, her hands tightening on his sleeve. Tears were beginning to swell in her eyes. "Just walk away. Everything you've done, everything thats happened, just leave it behind. We can start over. We can start again!"

A tear rolled down her cheek, she looked up at him, a mix of anger and sadness in her eyes. "You still choose revenge over me! Why can't you choose me!"

She stood there, silently crying and staring into his eyes. Makarov gently brushed a tear away off her beautiful face. Looking at her, Makarov realized how much she looked like mother. She had grown into a beautiful young woman. While he had grown into a vile demon. It was fitting, and he deserved it.

"Don't you see. I'm choosing you." Makarov said quietly, holding Nina in his embrace. "They will never leave us alone. I have to stop them here. It's the only way to give you the happyness you deserve."

He kissed her forehead. "S'ami bog. God is with us."

She gave a weak smile and nodded, blinking the tears out of her eyes. "S'ami bog..." She repeated, holding him in a tight embrace. For a moment, time stopped in the world for Vladimir Makarov. For once, he could no longer hear the gunfire or the shouts. For just a moment, a rare, precious moment, he felt at peace with his sister.

That moment however, was interrupted by an explosion a couple floors below.

Makarov and Nina turned to look outside the window. A black plume of smoke was rising from the side of the buliding.

"They're in the elevator..." Anatoly said, glancing towards the elevator. "We don't have much time..."

"Anatoly, take her and get out of here." Makarov ordered, handing Anatoly his sister and his suitcase. "Inside is directions and more then enough money to get you there."

"And you?"

"It will be harder for me to travel, so I'll leave seperate." Makarov explained, . "Once you've cross the border, leave the helicopter. Don't travel by plane and avoid urban areas, understood?"

Anatoly nodded, holding the suitcase in one hand, Nina's hand in the other. Makarov stared at the two before him. One, his sister and the most precious he had left in his life. And the other, his only true friend he had left in his life. The two had only met and known each other for half and year. And now they had fallen in love.

"I've given you what I hold dearest to me." Makarov said to his old friend and comrade. "Make sure she stays safe."

"My life will be her guard." Anatoly said, a rare confidence in his hazel eyes. "I promise you."

Another explosion. Makarov pushed both of them towards the rooftop exit."

"Go! I'll be right behind you!"

* * *

><p>Makarov slammed through the door and onto the rooftop, sprinting across the helipad towards the littlebird standing by for takeoff. He glanced back, seeing Price right on his heels, anger and determination in his eyes.<p>

"Go!" Makarov shouted to the pilot, causing the littlebird to lift off. Makarov jumped in the back just as the craft left the ground. He slammed the door shut and sat in his seat as the helicopter took off and left hotel oasis.

Suddenly, Makarov felt something catch the helicopter. Before he could react, Makarov watched Price in disbelief as he yanked open the door. The pilot hastily tried to kick the man, but Price easily blocked it, delivering a swift blow to the pilot's face and throwing him out into the night below. The co-pilot reached for his side arm, but Price was one step ahead. He stabbed his knife into the man's throat, forcing him back. A round went off, shooting the control panel.

The helicopter began to spin out of control. Warnings were going off as Price fought with the control. Makarov tried to reach for him, but the force keep him against his seat. The city lights blurred around him right until the sound of twisting and crashing metal.

Then there was darkness.

* * *

><p>Makarov's eyes reopenned, and found himself staring at a firery wreck. He surveyed his surroundings, and realized he was still in the helicopter, in pain but alive.<p>

He looked outside the front of the helicopter to see a man lying on the helipad, looking into the glass, still trying to recover himself. It didn't take Makarov anytime to figure out who it was.

_"I've have not made it this far to be stopped by the likes of you..." _Makarov thought to himself in silent anger._ "I send Captain Mactavish a friend to accompany him in hell..."_

Clutching his arm, Makarov forced open the door and stumbled out of the helicopter. His eyes met Price's in a deadly cold stare, and they both looked at the pistol laying in the middle of them. Both men began to reach it. Makarov limped, wincing in pain, but not keeping his eyes off the man in front of him.

Price reached the firearm first, but Makarov crushed his foot down, kicking the pistol out of the Captain's hand. He grabbed it and lowered it at the man's head.

"Goodbye..." Makarov said finally, standing over Price wounded but victorious."...Captain Price..."

A gunshot rang out, but not from Makarov. A sharp pain exploded in his shoulder and the impact of a bullet took him to his knee before he could pull the trigger. Makarov quickly spun around to face his attacker, and without thinking, fired three quick shots into his foe. Only after the man had fallen, did he realized who he was.

Yuri.

Just looking at his face made him think of the past. The past with Zakhaev. The past he was trying so hard to bury.

_"How quickly they forget, that all it takes to change the course of history, is a single man..."_


	2. Common Pasts

_21 years earlier..._

_Pripyat, Ukraine_

Vladimir Makarov stared silently out of the windshield, deep in thought. He drove in silence as the convoy traveled deeper into the ruined, abondoned, grey city that was once Pripyat. It was a strange feeling to be driving through a city that had been turned into a ghost town. The Chernobyl disaster had been the cause of that.

Which was ironically the same cause that brought them out here to do business. And it would be important business as well.

Makarov glanced up at the rear view mirror. Yuri was passed out in the back, sound asleep. Makarov smiled to himself and shook his head. The man had driven through the night for nearly 14 hours on little or no sleep. Nearly countless times Yuri had nearly fallen asleep at the wheel, almost sending the truck off the road. Makarov had offered countless times to switch and let Yuri rest, but his friend's pride was too strong.

It was a quality Makarov found common ground with. Yuri never broke his values and beliefs, never let someone do his work for him. He was always working to improve himself, and Makarov commended him for it. It was a rare quality to find in a person, and Makarov had seen many types of people in his life. None had the same drive that Yuri had. Not even close.

Makarov returned his focus back to the road. As they drove, the trucks infront of them began to slow to a halt. The exchange was to take place in a large pavillion just outside the old reactor. Most of the men had already set up security, and multiple helicopters were patrolling the airspace.

The convoy came to a stop and Makarov parked the truck behind the others. Just as soon as they had stopped, a man in a gray coat holding a suitcase quickly stepped out and began to walk towards the meeting.

The man was Imran Zakhaev. Leader of the Ultranationalists. Makarov had known this man since his childhood, when he had been rescued from certain death during the attack on his village. It had been Zakhaev that had given him a new purpose, and one that Makarov had no problem fulfilling. And Zakhaev had taken notice.

Makarov had found the Ultranationalists a good armed militia group, but one that didn't have any real power. The equipment and weapons they had were outdated, bought on the black market following the collapse of the Soviet Union. They didn't have the strength or the money to gain any type of real power. Until today...

Zakheav had come up with an ingenious plan: Selling spent nuclear fuel rods for money. And not just small numbers either. Enough profit to put the Ultranationalists into a position of true power. One that could put them into playing field for the Russian government.

And it would all begin today.

"Yuri, wake up." Makarov said, nudging his friend awake. Yuri shook his head, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"Zakhaev wouldn't want you to miss this." Makarov said, glancing out the window. Yuri looked out, watching the exchange for himself.

"This deal will generate millions for our cause..." He explained, watching Zakheav display the fuel rods. "Money can buy many things, even power."

He allowed himself a small smile. "The road to our future begins here, my friend..."

Makarov and Yuri continued to watch in silence as Zakheav continued to negotiate with the arms dealer. Except from what they were observing, it seemed like the negotiations had turned into an arguement.

They could hear Zakhaev yelling outside. "What do you mean 'its not enough?' I thought we had a deal!"

Makarov was about to step out and help deal with the situation when a small flash caught his eye. It was only for just a moment, but it caused him to pause. Yuri had seen it too, and had the same suspicions as Makarov.

But before Makarov could act on his suspicions, all hell broke loose. He watched as Zakhaev's arm exploded right in front of him, the dark red color of blood spraying everywhere.

He heard the bullet a split second later, and before he knew it, Zakhaev was on the ground, bleeding out. Everyone else was scattering and running to their respective vehicles. Shouts could be heard, mostly of confusion and panic.

Makarov swore and Yuri ducked down in his seat as a bullet broke through the trucks glass windows.

Before Makarov could act, Zakhaev had already picked himself up off the ground. Despite being wounded and his arm completely gone, the man had enough stength to open the jeep's door and drag himself in.

Without thinking, Makarov shifted the jeep into drive and sped away from the exchange.

Time slowed down and everything faded to black.

* * *

><p>Vladimir Makarov let out an audiable gasp and quickly sat up in shock as he woke up back in the real world<em>. <em>He placed his hand on the back of his neck, feeling the cold sweat trickle down his back. He took a deep breath and calmed himself.

_"That same dream again..." _He contemplated to himself. _"It felt so real..."_

"Nightmeres?"

Makarov looked up to noticed a man he had not realized was in the room with him. He wore a faded coat and dark jeans, and a black wool winter cap. His face was its normal plain self, but there was a look of concern in his steel blue eyes.

Makarov shook his head and sat up on the sofa. "No. Just memories of the past. Nothing more."

Yuri crooked his head. "Sometimes the past can be considered a nightmere. Especially ours."

A pause, and Yuri carefully studied his friend. Makarov tried hide his thoughts, but it was impossible with Yuri. He knew him too well.

"You were dreaming about 'Pripyat' again, weren't you?"

Makarov glanced away briefly as he rose from the sofa, already recovered from the ordeal.

"It was only a dream. It was nothing."

"It's an omen." Yuri warned, watching Makarov reach for his coat. "Something bad is on the horizon, I can feel it."

Makarov shook his head and chuckled. "Omens and superstitions are for the foolish and paranoid my friend. You'll end up like Anatoly if you keep believing in such things."

Yuri gave a small smile and shook his head. "Fair enough. Forget it then, we have places to be."

Makarov buttoned his coat." Zakhaev is here already?"

Yuri gave a nod. "The meeting will be commencing soon. Zakhaev's personal hind touched down about an hour ago."

"Good. Lets walk then."

The two opened the door and walked out to a mass of men, vehicles, and other equipment packed around into a large courtyard. Rapid shouts of Russian were heard echoing around and the smell of morning dew was in the air. Everyone was so busy with their respective jobs that they paid the two no attention as they made their was through the packed courtyard.

"Such a strange place..." Yuri observed quietly as they walked. "Tell me, does Zakhaev own this castle?"

"Offically no, but even if he didn't, would it matter?" Makarov replied as they weaved through soldiers. "The Czech Republic is home to many safehouses. This is just one of them."

The two reached the castle itself and entered through its massive stone archway. The interior itself had retained it's orginal design with some modern additions. Makarov and Yuri traveled down stone corridors and up countless steps till they had reached the top floor of the castle.

Two armed men stood guard in front of a long corridor. Both were chatting to one another, but automatically silenced themselves when Makarov and Yuri approached.

"Sir, Zakhaev is expecting you." One of the guards said to Makarov, snapping to attention.

"At ease." Makarov commanded. "Am I the last to arrive?"

"No." The guard replied. "The commander's son is still absent."

_"Typical..."_ Makarov thought to himself, thinking about Victor Zakhaev and all his qualities. _"Can't even take the time to come to a simple meeting..."_

"Well, well, look who it is..."

Makarov and Yuri looked around to see an all to familiar figure. A balding man with a neatly trimmed goatee stepped into view, a small smirk on his face. He was easily reconizable by his clothes: A blue striped tracksuit and white tennis shoes.

"If it isn't the mad dog himself." Victor Zakhaev said to Makarov, giving him a mocking smile.

Makarov narrowed his eyes. "Victor..." He said with as much respect as he could give to the man.

"And, I see he brought his friend..." Victor continued, glacing over at Yuri. "Vladimir's little shadow, always tagging along, close at his heels..."

Yuri gave a polite smile. "It's an honor to speak with you sir. It's quite an oppertunity to speak with one of the Horsemen, especially our leader's son."

Makarov studied Yuri's expression. On the outside, it looked like pure genuine admiration. But Makarov knew Yuri well. He could tell he was having a difficult time hiding his true feelings towards Victor. Yuri had just much respect for Zakhaev's son as Makarov, he just took the effort to hid it. Yuri wasn't stupid. Unlike Makarov, Yuri held no power, and despite his opinions, Victor Zakhaev was his superior.

And to Makarov's disgust, his superior as well.

Victor Zakhaev just shook his head and walked up to the guard. "Is my father here yet?"

"Yes sir." The guard replied quickly. "He's actually been waiting for you. Your absence has been causing him to question if you were going to show up on time."

Victor narrowed his eyes at the soldier. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm late?" He spat, his temper rising.

"N-No, sir, I didn't-

"Because if you think you have the nerve to tell me what I can and can't do, your mistaken!" Victor roared, grabbing the guard by the collar. "No one tells me what I do! Especially a worm like you! NO ONE!"

"Except your father." Makarov said coolily, observing from a safe distance. "And It would be wise not to keep him waiting..."

Victor looked at Makarov and to the guard, and threw the soldier to the guard.

"My father will hear about this." Victor vowed, standing over the man. "Mark my words..."

"Enough." Makarov said, beginning to walk down the corridor. "Zakhaev is waiting. Lets go."

Victor gave one last glare before storming off along Makarov down the stone gray corridor. Yuri began to follow behind the two before being stopped by the other guard.

"With all do respect, this is a meeting for inner members only." The guard said, holding his arm out. "A request by the commander."

Makarov looked at Yuri, feeling pity for his friend. Even after all these years, Yuri hadn't risen to the position of power that Makarov had attained. While it was known that Yuri had been there at Pripyat, Zakhaev had not rewarded him as he had Makarov. He had remained a soldier in the Ultranationalist army. An extremely skilled soldier, but still just a soldier nonetheless.

Makarov could still sense some bitter resentment from Yuri, but he had remained a loyal and true friend nonetheless.

Yuri sighed and gave the guard a nod. "I understand." He waved Makarov off. "I'll just be outside when your done."

"Understood."

Makarov walked in silence along side Victor. The man was walking with his hands in his pockets, humming a tune with a pleased yet stupid look on his face.

"What has you in such a good mood?" Makarov said, glacing over at Victor in question.

"I just realized something."

"And what is that?" Makarov said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You finally realize what a fool you are?"

Victor smiled, giving Makarov a venomus glare. "I would be careful with that silver tongue of yours. I can have father cut it out and feed it to you."

Makarov rolled his eyes, all too familiar with Victor's empty threats. "I find you more imtimidating with every passing day. When your father decides to cut out my tongue, please allow me to use it one final time calling you an imcompatent moron..."

Victor's face turned red in anger. "I don't know what my father sees in you, but I swear-

"Oh, we not so happy anymore?"

Victor's fist tightened, but he quickly composed himself, realizing what Makarov was doing.

"To answer your previous question, It had just occured to me that this war will be over sooner then we realize it." Victor continued, walking once again with the same foolish confidence. "Within a year, the Ultranationalist party will be the leading poltical force in Russia.

"Very unlikely..." Makarov replied, holding out a finger. "Winning a civil war is one thing. Putting a man into political office is quite another."

"Ah, but father has a plan you see." Victor said, a sly smile on his face. "He knows how to eliminate his enemies, and to put himself in power all at the same time. Why else do you think he's called all four of us together."

Makarov began to open his mouth, but he paused in thought at Victor's words.

_"It has been a long time since he called the four horsemen together..."_ Makarov thought to himself as they walked. _"Zakhaev wouldn't do such a thing without an important reason...Could there be truth Victor's words?..."_

"You can ask him yourself if you have doubts." Victor said, placing his hand on the door. "Maybe that clever tongue of yours won't be so arrogant when you hear it from father himself..."

Victor Zakhaev opened the door to the meeting, and both men stepped inside. A single long table sat in the middle of the room, with chairs placed around the side. A flat screen was mounted to the far wall, and a stone porch offered a view of the courtyard below.

Two men were inside, ones Vladimir Makarov reconized. One, a middle eastern man wereing a red beret and holding a shot of liquor in his hand. The other was staring at the T.V screen, silently watching the news. Both turned as Makarov and Victor walked in.

"My son." Imran Zakhaev said, greeting Victor first.

"Father." Victor replied politely.

"Vladimir."

Makarov gave a respectful nod. "Sir."

"It's good you could come." Zakhaev said. "We have much to discuss..."


	3. Seeds of War

Yuri was lost in thought again.

As he stood near by a lone burn barrel, the strong, putrid smell of oil could easily be smelled, however it didn't bother him. He pulled his hands out of his coat pocket and placed them in front of the blaze in an attempt to keep warm. All the while around, countless soldiers were carrying out the day's duties.

He found himself staring into the flame, trying to clear his mind and lose himself in the dancing flames. However, nothing could keep his mind off of what Makarov was doing, despite his best efforts to put it out of his thoughts.

_"As if I shouldn't be there too.." _Yuri said to himself in his head, narrowing his eyes. _"I have just done as much as him, why shouldn't I be denied what I've rightly earned?"_

Despite the warmth of the flame, Yuri still felt the cold bitter feeling of jealousy flowing inside him. He had always found common ground with Vladimir Makarov from the day they had met. They came from similar upbringings, believed in the same values, served in the military as soldiers and fought in war. They were still fighting, only now it was a much different conflict.

Despite all these things, Yuri accomplishments seemed only minor to Makarov's. No matter how hard he wanted it to change. He was always in his shadow, like a younger sibling overshadowed by his older counterpart.

Yuri shook these thoughts out of his mind. _"Its pointless complaining like a child. I don't need to prove anything or impress anyone..."_

It would still feel good however.

He continued to watch the flames in silence, contemplating in silence. Until being interrupted that is.

A gloved hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked to see a man his age and height, covered in head to toe in cold weather fatigues. His light brown hair and soft eyes seemed to smile at Yuri. It was a face that didn't take him long to recognize.

"Anatoly." Yuri said with a rare smile.

"Yuri," Anatoly repeated back, grinning. "Yuri, Yuri, always in a hurry!"

"Thats me, the one and only," Yuri replied, "Its good to see you again, I thought you were assigned to Afganistan?"

"I had thought the same," He said. "But it seems that my talents and skills have brought me here, working directly under Zakhaev himself."

"You? Working for Imran himself?" Yuri asked, skeptical. "Doing what, debugging computers?"

"Its not just computers Yuri!" Anatoly snapped. "For your information, this 'army' that we call ourselves is mostly made up of men who either dropped out of school or had no formal education entirely! And only rare few actually know the ins and outs of fiber optics, communications, networking, binary-

"Okay, okay, I get it." Yuri said, waving him off. "Your the personal techie for our commander."

"I prefer technical adviser..."

"All the same." Yuri said, dismissing the subject. "I'm sure your work keeps you busy."

Anatoly sighed. "It keeps 'us' busy, unfortunately..."

"Us? Who-

At that moment, a man carrying what seemed to Yuri to be large containers of some sort. The man carried one in each hand, and the expression on his face showed fatigue.

As he approached, the man dropped the cases to the ground, landing in the dirt with a thud. He then sat down, catching his breath and taking his winter cap off to wipe the sweat from his brow.

The impact of the cases seemed to set Anatoly off in alarm. "Don't just drop them Viktor! The shock will damage them!"

Viktor didn't seem to hear Anatoly as he began to light a cigarette, taking a break from what Yuri could see was painful and tedious work.

"You carry them up and down ten flights of stairs then." Viktor snapped. "I don't give a shit about your precious computers."

"If I carried them, then I would be doing all the work!" Anatoly fired back. "Besides, I don't have the strength to lug this stuff around and install it!"

Viktor scoffed. "Well then I suppose you better start benching..."

Yuri gave a slight grin. "Being a pack mule not suit you Viktor?"

Viktor gave Yuri an icy look, then look at him with a small smile on his face. "You can relate, I'm sure."

"Unfortunately, I can." Yuri replied, walking over to shake hands. "Its good to see you too old friend."

"You too." Viktor replied, giving a firm handshake.

"So," Anatoly started, smiling as he always did. "What brings you here? Or rather, what brings Makarov here?"

And just like that, Yuri set of mind was back on Vladimir Makarov. Already, jealousy was already beginning to pulse back into his veins.

"He's..." Yuri started, trying to find words.

"Let me guess, hes out reading again, right?" Anatoly guessed. He shook his head. "I swear, I wonder when that man finds time to eat..."

Yuri shook his head. "No, not that. Hes..."

He glanced up at the colossal stone castle that dominated the area, towering above the men.

"He's in a meeting."

* * *

><p>"And I expect them to be in pristine condition when I receive them."<p>

"They are." Zakhaev assured. "Top of the line."

"And the weapons? When will I have them?"

"At the same time with the helicopters." Zakhaev promised, his steel gray eyes staring intently at his guest. "Everything will be to your standards and beyond, I promise."

Khaled Al-Asad played with his shot of liquor before downing it in a second. Makarov never took his eyes off of the man. He had chosen a traditional military dress uniform for his visit, his chest adorned with numerous medals, most of which he had probably hadn't earned. Still, it made him look the part.

Al-Asad gave a confident smile. "I see. Then my uprising should be smooth and swift. Once I come to power, I am sure to support you as a brother, provided some deals are kept."

Zakhaev raised a hand. "You need not worry. I am a man of my word, and my word will be kept."

Al-Asad gave a curt nod, and raised yet another shot of liquor. "A toast! To such a beautiful revolution!"

Makarov watched, glaring in silent disgust. In his eyes, this man was nothing but a useless fool with no sense of what war really was. Just a game he could use to satisfy his need for power. But a even such a man had his uses, or that was Zakhaev saw at least.

However, Makarov was inclined to disagree.

"Tell me..." Makarov said, not taking his eyes of Al-Asad. "What do you intend to do with the country once you've won power?"

Al-Asad eyed Makarov like he had told a joke. "What do you mean? Rule like I intend to of course."

"I once heard a man say those exact words." Makarov replied, studying the Arabic man before him.

"Vladimir." Zakhaev said, eying him with caution.

"Until I found him. Dead." Makarov said simply. "I find it quite remarkable what a single round fired from over half a mile can do to a man."

Al-Asad grinned. "So you fear for my safety? Do you think I once I take power, I will have it swept away?"

"Power is a weapon, one that everyone wants. Put it in the hands of a mastermind, and stopping him becomes an impossibility. Put power in the hands of a madman, and stopping him becomes a priority..."

Makarov glanced up at Al-Asad. "...Put power in the hands of a fool, and stopping him is child's play."

"Makarov, that's enough." Zakhaev tried again, but to no avail.

A sinister smile curled at the corners of Al-Asad's mouth. "Such arrogance from a man who has never known what real power feels like."

"And such foolish and arrogant notions of a man who's own dreams of glory will be his undoing." Makarov spat back, venom in every word. "You expect the world to just leave you alone once you take power?"

"Vladimir!" Zakhaev roared, quickly silencing the room.

Makarov closed his eyes and sighed. "It's pointless convincing him otherwise..." He muttered to himself.

"I apologize for my lieutenant's words." Zakhaev said. "He has a problem of speaking his mind and then more."

Makarov rolled his eyes. _"A talent I have found you do as well..."_

"You should get some rest." Zakhaev said, approaching Al-Asad. "The accommodations we've prepared for your visit should be to your liking."

Al-Asad scoffed. "I should expect no less..."

Zakhaev turned to his son. "Victor, would you mind escorting our guest."

Victor rolled his eyes in displeasure. "If I must..."

As the two began to leave the room, Makarov got up and was about to exit as well, until Zakhaev said otherwise.

"You can stay." Zakhaev ordered, causing Makarov to freeze. He glanced silently out of the corner of his eye before turning around.

Zakhaev waited to make sure Al-Asad and Victor had left and were out of earshot before speaking.

"Your glibness does you no credit." Zakhaev said with a glare. "Do you think I like tending to that man's every whim like a servant, only to have you ruin any chance of a partnership?"

"Last time I recall, I believe you told me to speak my mind when facing an enemy." Makarov countered, pacing the room. "Or has that changed since I last saw you?"

"Kalad Al-Asad is our ally and your friend." Zakhaev reminded him. "It would be wise to remember that."

"What good is he anyway?" Makarov replied. "Give him two, three months, the U.N will have him ousted or assassinated. Why lend him our help?"

"Because we share many enemies. And we'll need his help distracting one of them."

"This again..." Makarov said in a bored tone. "Haven't I made this clear, the Americans-

"The Americans are doing exactly what I intend them to do. Just like Al-Asad."

Zakhaev closed his eyes and sighed, listening to the commotion of men outside.

"There is a reason why I call you here as well Makarov. Something of great importance that is essential to this plan."

Makarov eyed Zakhaev with curiosity. "What do you ask of me?"

"To do what you best." Zakhaev replied, handing him the folder. "Acquire the impossible."

Makarov opened the folder's contents, paging through and skimming it's pages. He only had look over a few pages to realize what Zakhaev had given him.

"These are schematics..." Makarov said to himself. "Schematics and a shipping manifest for-

"A nuclear bomb." Zakhaev finished for him. "One that you are going to acquire."

He couldn't hardly believe it. "For what purpose?"

"An offering to Al-Asad."

Makarov closed the envelope in a heartbeat. "I refuse to give that man such power."

"He wouldn't have control of the weapon itself." Zakhaev explained. "Only possession."

"And you expect him to hold the country hostage with this weapon, is that it?"

Zakhaev said nothing. To Makarov, it was all the answer he could need.

"This coup' Al-Asad intends in enact, will spark a major within the west, and an American response is only the most logical one. They will invade."

"And you need a weapon to deter them..."

"The bomb is being moved by rail tomorrow." Zakhaev explained. "Can you give me what I ask?"

Makarov picked up the folder and glanced up at his leader, commander and superior.

"It will be done."

* * *

><p>"And then that's when It got so cold, I swear I was frozen in place!"<p>

Yuri smiled at Anatoly's story. "It was pretty damn in cold in Afghanistan, especially up in those mountains..."

He shuddered. "I don't miss does times."

Viktor nodded, throwing his third cigarette into the flames. "Agreed."

Anatoly smiled, until he glanced behind Yuri, his expression quickly changing.

"Yuri."

Yuri glanced behind, finding himself staring at none other then Vladimir Makarov himself.

Anatoly gave a wave a small smile. "Long time no see Maka-

"Your 'meeting' go well?" Yuri asked, studying the folder Makarov's hand.

Makarov looked at him for a second before turning to Viktor and Anatoly. "You two busy?"

Anatoly opened his mouth, looking at his stacks of hardware. "Well, I kind of-

"Good." Makarov looked at Yuri, handing him the folder. "Because we have much work to do."

Yuri looked at the folder, standing silent in shock at what Makarov had handed him. Only one thought went through his mind.

_"Impossible..."_

* * *

><p>A glow from a dimly lit monitor illuminated the room. A young blonde haired woman looked at the screen without blinking an eye.<p>

A large figure behind approached her.

"M'am." A man said, his voice thick with a British accent. "We've received word from Nikolai. The weapon is being moved by railroad tomorrow deep in northern Siberia.

"Just as the Intel suggested." The woman replied, not taking her eyes off the monitor. "And the bad news?"

"We believe someone else is going after it too." The man answered. "One by the name of-

"Vladimir Makarov?"

The man paused. "Yes..."

"I've been studying his file..." The blonde said, staring at the picture of the man they spoke of. "Quite a complex person from what I've observed..."

The man chuckled. "You find him complex? That's a first. I thought you found everything and everyone boring and simple."

"So did I..." The blonde replied. "But even I can be wrong..."

"SAS is lending us their support, we leave in the hour."

The blonde closed her frost blue eyes, smiling to herself. "And here I was, getting so bored. This Russian should be interesting."

"He intends to steal a nuclear weapon..."

"Then we shall have to steal it before he does." The blonde replied, a spark in her eye. "I hope this Vladimir Makarov is more of a challenge then the last."


	4. Dead Memories

The four of them sat round a simple wooden table. In the room, the only light came from a small hanging lantern that sat suspended above them. All in front of them, were countless papers and documents, all pertaining to the same topic.

Yuri studied the papers with caution. _"Arms are one thing, but nuclear warfare?...This is madness..."_

"Now then." Makarov said, breaking the silence of his small council. "Lets go over it one last time."

Anatoly nodded. "I've already taken the liberty of contacting and briefing Sergei. He and his men will meet us there. From there, you will be in full command."

Makarov gave a brief nod and turned to Viktor. "What of the explosives?"

Viktor took a brief pause, inhaling on his cigarette. "No complications. They have been delivered and will be set up before we arrive."

"Good. Have the detonator wired directly to my control. I don't trust any man to this task but myself."

"I shall do it."

Vladimir Makarov looked at the plan one last time. "This will be just a simple ambush. By the time we strike, this weapon will be good as mine."

_"Let us hope..." _Yuri thought in silence.

* * *

><p><em>"22 Hours Later..."<em>

A blowing hail of snow lashed at Yuri's face as he guided his horse across a fallen log. Beside him, Vladimir Makarov gave a tug on his black satin scarf, muttering curses to himself on account of the weather. A gust of wind sent old leaves flapping though the night air, like a flock of ravens.

_"More omens..."_ Yuri thought to himself. They seemed to be popular in the recent days.

Yuri eyed Makarov beside him, seated on his dark black horse. He was not a good rider, even in decent weather, and the blizzard of snow and ice made travel that much harder. Horses may have not of been the most advance mode of transportation, but it was an entirely different world in the northern reaches of Siberia. The rules here was different.

The two rode with a guard of a dozen men, all silent as they rode along. They must of been riding for what seem to Yuri hours, before they spotted the glow of a signal flare ahead.

"Captain Sergei." Makarov announced as he sighted the crimison glow. "Finally."

The column approached the flare, and soon, a silhouette appeared in front of them, holding the red flare.

Commander Sergei was a bear of a man. Overgrown beard and dark sullen eyes had made him appeared much older then he seemed. However, the man had lived in the cold, and Northern Siberia had harden him to the point of rough steel.

"So, Vladimir Makarov has graced us with his presence." Sergei said as Makarov dismounted. "How was the ride?"

"Cold." Makarov muttered, studying the man. "Cold and unforgiving."

Sergei laughed. "She is quite something." He said with a smile. "Siberia is like a murderous bitch. She may be cold and hard, but she is someone you love overtime. If you survive her harsh judgment..."

Makarov raised a leather gloved hand. "Enough. I have no time for simple banter. The lookout, if you would be kind."

Sergei studied him briefly before motioning them to follow. Yuri walked with Makarov behind the giant man, a simple lantern leading the way. They walked until they reached a small bunker overlooking a cliff. A pit had been dug and a white canvas laid over for camouflage and protection from the elements.

The three of them stepped into the pit. Yuri was glad, as it allowed them to get out of the biting wind. A small radio had been set up, with a pair of optics, mounted on a tripod.

The place was the perfect vantage point to survey the entire area below. The only problem was, that it was near impossible to see anything. The white torrent of snow made seeing anything in front of you a near impossible task. Somewhere down in that valley, was a set of train tracks, and a couple hundred men, lying in wait.

"All the preparations have been made, according to your order." Sergei said as Makarov looked out. "The men are all ready, though this might be more difficult now with the conditions."

"Its a double edged sword." Makarov spoke, always the stagiest. "It makes us invisible, and stealth is crucial for this plan's success. It can be worked around."

"As you say." Sergei replied, still somewhat unconvinced. "My scouts have told me the train ison schedule, its ETA now less then a hour."

Makarov nodded. "Good. It will give us time to finalize our position. Go join your men down in the valley and stay in radio contact."

"Will do." The old bear said, lumbering out of the bunker. "You two try not to freeze your cocks off."

Yuri smiled to himself at Sergei's dry humor, but Makarov shook his head in disgust. He focused his attention on the binoculars that rested on the tripod.

"Useless." Makarov declared, looking through the optics. "This blizzard blinds everyone."

"We'll have to have Viktor tell us the precise time to detonate the C4." Yuri said, taking a seat next to Makarov.

Makarov agreed, and briefly spoke to Viktor over his cell phone, explaining the change of plan.

"Now..." Makarov said after finishing his call. "We wait."

Yuri sat in silence, staring out into the cold, wintery abyss. Somewhere, down in the valley, was a company of soldiers, lying in ambush. No doubt freezing their asses off too.

He glanced over at his friend. Vladimir Makarov was not one for the cold. He sat stiff, his arms clenched tight around his frame.

"Damn this cold..." Makarov muttered, closing his eyes as if to transport himself someplace warmer.

Yuri managed a small smile, reaching for a thermos he had brought with him.

"Maybe this will help." Yuri said, pouring a glass of hot black liquid into a tin cup. He handed Makarov the glass, the heat creating a small cloud of steam on its surface.

"Coffee?" Makarov said, almost not believing it before his own eyes.

Yuri nodded, pouring his own cup. "Dark. Not the most elegant brew, but it will help keep the cold at bay."

He took a large swig, the bitter liquid burning the inside of his throat. Yuri barely felt the pain. The heat traveled through his body, seemingly rejuvenating his entire being.

His cup was empty in a matter of seconds, and gladly helped himself to a second. As he was in the process pouring, he noticed Makarov staring into the cup, deep in thought. A strange and rare sadness was in his eyes.

"What?" Yuri asked. "You don't like it."

Makarov glanced briefly and shook his head. "No, it's not that..."

He sighed, still staring into his cup. "I remember days like this when I was a child. Back in my village, when the wind and snow swept through, unforgiving..."

Yuri looked at his friend in stunned surprise. Makarov was very reserved, especially about his personal self. Not even Yuri could say that he knew all about Makarov's upbringing. To speak of it now, it seemed out of place.

"I remember such times..." Makarov said, staring off into the unknown. "They seem like a different life entirely."

"My home was an orphanage, if you can consider that a home..." Yuri said quietly. "Your lucky you have memories of a home and family."

"I consider it unlucky. I wish I could forget such things. But some memories are impossible to erase."

"That they are..." Yuri agreed silently , knowing all to well what Makarov meant.

The two sat in silence, drinking their coffee and staring out in the blizzard. Yuri looked over at Makarov. Despite having the warm drink, he looked colder and more depressed then ever.

Yuri decided to go out on a limb, and break the silence. "I guess you knew a lot of the girls in your village pretty well, am I right?" He said, trying to lighten the gloomy mood.

Makarov glanced at Yuri out of the corner of his eye, confused. "What?"

Yuri smirked. "You know. Girls. That you knew well. Very well."

Makarov paused, processing what Yuri was trying to say. "Girls in my village..." He repeated to himself, trying to comprehend.

Yuri rolled his eyes, hanging his head in complete disbelief. _"Either he's avoiding the subject or he really has no idea what I'm talking about."_

"I knew all the kids equally in my village, regardless of gender." Makarov answered , sipping his coffee. "I didn't really have any good friend."

"Oh really?" Yuri said, a dark grin on his face. "Cause Anatoly mentioned to me someone named Lynsa..."

Makarov nearly choked on his coffee, coughing and gagging at the mention of the name. Yuri was doing all in his power not to burst out laughing.

"I remember him telling me how you were her little shadow..." Yuri continued on. "He told me you did everything to try and impress her. I believe he told me you went as far as-

"Whatever Anatoly told you, it was a lie." Makarov snapped, trying to hide the crimson on his face. "Your a fool to believe everything that man says Yuri."

_"And an even bigger fool to believe that..."_ Yuri thought to himself, smiling at his little game.

Makarov, finally having composed himself, pulled his coat sleeve to check his watch.

"Nearly half an hour." He declared, returning himself to business. "Make sure your ready Yuri."

Yuri nodded, staring into the swirling white storm. In half an hour, he would be stealing a nuclear weapon in order to win the trust of a radical middle-eastern leader. What a life he lived.

He glanced over at the black haired Russian sitting beside him, still shivering from the cold.

_"But at least I don't have to live it alone..."_


	5. Hidden Foe

The wind continued to howl, unrelenting in its snowy barrage. The bitter cold was unforgiving, but Makarov paid it no notice. He was too focused on more important things. He sat silently, staring at the detonator in his grasp, waiting patiently like a snake about to strike.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. "Yes."

"We have visual on thermal," Viktor annouced. "20 seconds."

"Understood, standing by." Makarov replied, flipping the arm on the detonator switch. One press, and nearly a hundred pounds of plastic explosives would detonate.

"15 seconds..."

Makarov glanced at over at Yuri, who was silenltly observing him, watching his actions.

"10 seconds..."

_"...The train will derail...Finding the exact_ _car will take some time..."_

"5 seconds..."

_"...Increase difficulty due __the storm...Given Sergei and his men however, there will be more then enough time...No problems..."_

"Fire when ready."

"On the way!" Makarov shouted, pressing the detonator.

An eerie silence filled the valley as they waited for the detonation. Then, off in the distance, the muffled sounds of explosions echoed through the wind, the bright flashes of light pulsating off in the white unknown.

The twisting and screaming of metal could be heard, like a large structure collapsing. Even through the dense storm, Makarov and Yuri could hear it clearly.

Then, as soon as it had happened, the same errie silence took over once again. Only soon to be replaced by the distant patter of gunfire.

Makarov flipped open his cell phone. "Viktor."

"It worked!" Viktor yelled, gunfire in the background. "Were engaging the security detail!"

_"Of course it worked..."_ "Understood." Makarov answered. "Remember, the cargo is the top priority." He flipped closed and turned over to Yuri. "Well then, Shall we?"

Yuri nodded, and the two quickly made their way back to the horses. Within minutes, they were riding through the snow and wind, quickly moving to the valley below.

* * *

><p>They had ridden for nearly half an hour before Makarov spotted the first train car. Its figure completely unrecognizable due to the wreak. It was like someone had smashed it with a giant mallet.<p>

Flames were also visible around the wreak as well, and soon bodies began to appear, some just as recognizable as the train wreak itself.

Yuri gave a sickly look at one of the bodies. "Poor souls..."

"Should have picked a better life." Makarov said, guiding his horse around the scraps of debris. "Come on, Sergei is waiting, and hopefully with my weapon..."

The two rode on through the wreak, the sound of gunfire quietly fading. Makarov had counted on being opposition, but he had also counted on the initial explosion to disable any hostile forces. Fortunately, it had gone so perfectly, but it wouldn't be long before more Russian troops came to the distress call. Ones much more armed.

And that was a battle Makarov had no intention of fighting.

Yuri squinted ahead, making out a figure in the distance.

"Sergei." Yuri declared, riding ahead. The two quickly approached and the large man stood before them, his great beard filled with snow and ice.

"Have you located it yet?" Makarov demanded as he dismounted his horse.

Sergei nodded. "Aye, that we have. Easy to find too. Take a look."

Sergei wasn't lying when he said it had been easy to find. The car was almost entirely made of reinforced steel, and the explosion hadn't made a dent to it. Sergei's soldiers were already busy tying cargo straps, and Makarov could already hear the sound approaching transport helicopters.

"Very efficient work." Makarov observed, almost impressed. "I shall make sure to inform Zakhaev of your excellence as a commander."

"That is not all." Sergei said, stopping Makarov. "This was found on two of the officers guarding the car."

Makarov looked as Sergei held out two silver keys in his leather glove. They were larger they normal keys, but they retained the same shape.

"Launch keys..." Yuri said as Makarov held one in his hand.

"The power to destroy with the twist of a key..." Makarov mused, staring at the key with silent amazement. "...Just imagine..." The silver key glistened as he held it.

"There were only two?" Yuri asked.

Sergei nodded in reply. "You need both to activate the bomb. It's absolutely useless with out them."

_"Perfect." _Makarov through to himself, already hatching a plan. _"Al-Asad can have his precious nuclear weapon...So long as I control the means of activating it..."_

"Hold on to one, I'll take the other." Makarov ordered, pocketing the key. "Have your men transport the device separately."

"Understood." Sergei replied, pocketing his launch key. "I will keep it safe."

Makarov nodded. "You have serve me well this far. I trust you will maintain that reputation."

The distant sound of gunfire in the distance quickly alerted the men, and Makarov was once reminded that time was not on their side.

"Have the weapon airlifted and the keys separate." Makarov ordered to the grizzled man. "Yuri, with me. Anatoly and Viktor will be waiting..."

"See you when we get back then!" Sergei called as they mounted their horses. "Perhaps we can have a drink?"

"Not with the likes of you..." Makarov muttered under his cold breath. He kicked his horse and quickly galloped into the blizzard, Yuri close behind.

* * *

><p>They made good time through the blizzard, and Makarov felt much safer and warmer sitting in the passenger seat of vehicle then on the back of a feral horse. He detested riding such beasts.<p>

Despite the intented challenge, It had been quite easy. Too easy some would say, but Makarov knew that with careful planning and masterful strategy, no problem could be to great, given the circumstances. By tomorrow, Al-Asad would have his weapon, and Makarov would give Zakhaev the means to control it.

Thus in turn controlling Al-Asad. Lets see the great Victor Zakhaev best that.

Makarov allowed himself a small smile. _"When the next time we meet Victor, I'll be treated as a son and you a failure..."_ He continued to daydream, all while holding the launch key tightly in his pocket.

Anatoly muttered curses as he strained to see out the window as he drove through the storm. Viktor and Yuri sat in the back, conversing quietly with one another, talking about days long past.

Makarov paid them little attention, his mind still daydreaming about getting the respect he finally deserved from Zakhaev, and his son getting the rightful treatment in return.

His eyes began to drift, the heater causing him to become drowsy. His eyelids became heavy as he finally gave into sleep.

Makarov didn't remember dreaming much, but he did remember waking up to the cell phone vibrating in his pocket. As well as the message that came with it.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, realizing he was getting a message. He reached for the cell phone that sat deep in his pocket. As he flipped it open, he read who was calling.

_One new text message: Unknown_

_"Who would be texting me..." _Makarov thought, staring at the screen with suspicion. _"Only few have my number, and fewer use it..."_

He pressed the button and opened the message.

"_Boom."_

~_M._

_"...What the-_

A bright flash of light suddenly appeared in front of them, a violent explosion destroying part of the convoy in front of them.

"What the hell?" Anatoly shouted as more explosions soon erupted. "Whats going-

He didn't have time to finish before another explosion rocked the vehicle, shattering the glass and shaking everyone inside. The force was enough to send them off the road.

"Hold on!" Anatoly yelled, tightly gripping the wheel. He tried to steer the jeep back on the snowy trail, but it was a vain attempt. The jeep quickly lost traction and they spun out of control. Once they left the road, the jeep had no problem rolling over, barreling down the snowy cliffside.

Rolling and tumbling through his seat, Makarov tried to brace himself to the crash, but the force shook him so violently it made any attempt impossible. His body was trashed against the ceiling and door, brusing and battering his side. It seemed like an eternity before they stopped.

Cold wind poured through the broken windshield, hitting Makarov with a bitter gust of snow. His head was throbbing in pain from the crash, and he struggled to stay conscious. He glanced over at Anatoly, head resting on the steering wheel, knockout cold from the crash.

He tried to resist blacking out himself, but it was too much effort to resist. Finally, he gave in to the pain, only before asking himself one question.

_"How?..."_


	6. Russian Reunion

Yuri's head was still throbbing when he finally awoke.

All he could remember was sitting in the back of a jeep, talking with Viktor before all hell broke loose. An explosion was the last thing he heard before blacking out, and now he was laying on a bed, starring up at the ceiling.

_"Wait a minute..."_ Yuri thought, beginning to realize his surroundings. _"I'm not in a vehicle anymore..."_

He slowly sat up, wincing in pain and grabbing his side. Everything was dim from the lack of lighting, but with a quick glance he found himself sitting in a dark, damp cell, imprisoned for sure, but alive none the less.

"Where the hell am I?" He asked himself.

"My place."

Yuri quickly turned around to see a young girl sitting in a simple wooden chair, watching him with large, curious eyes. Her coat was nearly three sizes too big for her, and a wool scarf wrapped around her skinny neck. She had a notebook in her lap, and was constantly looking from it to Yuri, scribbling into it.

Yuri didn't know how to respond to her. She looked young, only a teenager at best. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"You asked where you were. I told you. My place." She repeated, still scribbling in her note book. "Well, actually it's my older sister's place, but Its just much of my home as hers."

"Okay..." Yuri started, trying to piece her words into meaning.

"She's the one who found you out in the storm." The girl continued to explain. "You were pretty hurt , but they fixed you up good. Your friends too."

"My friends?" Yuri asked. Then he suddenly realized he was alone, and the question was placed in his mind. _"Makarov...Anatoly...Viktor...Where the hell are they?"_

"They're here too, don't worry." The girl replied, as if reading his thoughts. "In fact, my sister is probably talking with the black haired one right now. She said she had catching up to do. I didn't know she had any friends..."

"Wait a minute, whats you name?"

"My name is Katya Voloski." The girl introduced with a shy smile. "It's nice to meet you."

_"Oh no." _Yuri thought. Dread filled his mind, recognizing her last name. _"Not the wolf woman..."_

* * *

><p>"Let me go!" Makarov spat, glaring at his captors. He tried his arms, but they were secured in iron shackles mounted to the wall, impossible to move even inches.<p>

"Shut up!" One of the guards said before hitting Makarov square across the jaw. The pain throbbed through his already beaten body, but he dare not show any weakness. Not to the likes of them

He spit blood and glared angerily at the guard. "I'll remember that..."

"Well, its safe to say you haven't changed Vladimir." A female said casually, as she emerged from the darkness.

Makarov looked to see a slender woman waltz out, a glint of delight in her dark brown eyes. Her faded brown hair was the same color as her worn leather jacket, worn tightly to her frame.

"Lynsa Voloski..." Makarov spat as she approached, detesting her very presence.

"Is that how we greet old friends?" She asked, standing over him. "I would have thought you were a man of manners Vladimir, especially someone who just saved your pitiful life."

"Save me your petty words, wolf woman." He spat. "I do not converse with traitors."

"Oh, still sore about that?" She said softly, straddling over him. "Don't tell me you still play fetch for Zakhaev and his bastard of a son. Such a waste..."

"Such ironic words, coming from someone who spends their days sitting in the wilderness..."

She gave a wicked smile. "And yet that's how I found you, near death in the middle of a storm."

"No thanks to you." Makarov shot back. "Getting ambushed by you isn't exactly on my list of things to do."

Confusion filled Lynsa's eyes, studying his words. "Ambush? Are you claiming I was the one who attacked you?"

Makarov started to open his mouth to speak, but quickly thought it through. _"Why would she try to kill me only to save me later?"_

She laughed. "I always love that clueless look on your face. Makes it all the more enjoyable..."

Makarov's anger began to boil. "If not you, then who?" He demanded, his fist balled in frustration.

"Who knows? Who cares?" She said, shrugging. "What I really care is about one thing."

She placed a finger on his cheek, sliding it down his jaw. "I have you, and theres nothing you or your precious Imran can do about it. Oh the possibilities..."

Makarov shook her touch away. "Spare the theatrics, just do what you intend and be done with it."

"Straight to the point I see." She said, almost disappointed. "Very well. Truth is, I honestly have no idea what I should do with you, or your friends."

"I have a suggestion..." Makarov said darkly. "How about you let me go, and maybe I'll forget this conversation ever happened."

His response caused laugher among Lysna and the guards, mocking him even further. How his wished he could be free.

"Vladimir, you still haven't changed a bit." Lynsa said, shaking her head. "I'm getting bored with you already..."

"Then kill me. Shoot me and be done with this mockery."

"Shoot you?" Lynsa repeated, pretending to sound confused. "Wheres the fun in that? I don't want to shoot you."

"Then what?" Makarov demanded, becoming impatient with Lynsa's childish games. "What is your intentions?"

"You want to know?" She asked, a sly smile on her face. She bent down next to him, her face inches from his. He could feel her breath, the slight odor of perfume on her neck.

"I want to burn you." She whispered, staring intently. "I want to end this petty rivalry between us once and for all. I want to outsmart and out maneuver you, show you who your intellectual superior is."

She whispered into his ear. "Then, in front of everyone and your friends, watch your entire world end before your eyes."

Lynsa Voloski stood up. "Then you'll die."

Makarov shook his head. _"Even after all these years, she still harbors this childish obsession of being better then me..."_

"One hour Vladimir Makarov," Lynsa said, walking away. "One hour..."

* * *

><p>"Listen, you have to let me speak to her." Yuri pleaded once again.<p>

Katya continued to scribble in her notebook. "I don't think that's a good idea," She said quietly, giving a nervous look. "She told me she was very busy. And she doesn't like being disturbed when she's busy..."

Katya brushed off her notebook and smiled. "Done! Here, take a look."

She turned the notepad, and Yuri looked to see a very well done drawing of a man sleeping on a bed. As he studied the pencil sketch, he slowly realized who she had drawn.

"It's me." Yuri said, still studying the drawing.

She nodded. "Do you like it?"

"Your really good." Yuri complemented, impressed at her skill. "It's almost realistic..."

Katya smiled, blushing. "Thanks..." She said, hugging the notepad. "No one really ever pays my drawings any attention. Not even Lynsa..."

The sound of a heavy metal door opened, and the sound of footsteps approached Yuri's cell.

"Uh-oh..." Katya said quietly, hiding behind her notebook as the footsteps approached. "It's Lynsa..."

A tall slender woman appeared, escorted by guards. Yuri recognized her almost immediately as she came into view.

"Katya!" Lynsa Voloski said, grabbing the girl's wrist. "I told you not to go down here."

"I was drawing..." Katya said quietly. "He was sleeping, look I drew-

Lynsa snatched the notebook away. "I should have known better then to let you roam by yourself. These are dangerous men, you should know that!"

Katya shook her head in protest. "He isn't. He even said he liked my picture..."

The older Voloski sibling shook her head. "Take her up to the main hall." She ordered to one of the guards. "Make sure she doesn't leave your sight."

"Yes m'am." The guard snatched Katya by the wrist and escorted away from the cells. Before leaving, she waved goodbye to Yuri.

Yuri felt pity for the girl, despite her relations. _"Such an innocent mind, placed in a world of conflict..."_

"Well, it's nice to see Vladimir lap dog." Lynsa said, turning to Yuri. "I see you haven't changed just like your owner."

Yuri eyed her carefully. He knew the game she was trying to play, and it wasn't going to work on him.

"Lynsa Voloski." Yuri said politely. "Still a thief and a murder living in the wilderness. I see you haven't changed much either."

"Looks can be deceiving. Tell me, how is Imran lately? Has he won power in Moscow yet? Or is his still complaining about his arm again..."

"I honestly wouldn't know." Yuri replied calmly. "I hardly see that man."

"Oh that's right." Lynsa said. "That a question for Vladimir then. My mistake, I just assumed you would have some authority by now..."

Yuri fists clenched in silent anger. She was one that used words as her weapon. She knew very well how to press his buttons. Even so, he wouldn't give her the pleasure. Not this time.

"Where is he?" Yuri demanded.

"Safe and secure, though a little angry last time I talked with him." Lynsa replied pacing. "But still alive if that's what your wondering."

"For now I would assume. Until you decide to kill him that is."

Lynsa sighed, almost annoyed. "What is with you and Vladimir? Why do think I would just kill him?"

"What then?" Yuri asked. "Ransom? Torture? What are you planning?"

She gave him a sly smile. "A show. One that you and your friends are invited to watch. It will will be quite a spectacle."

"A show." Yuri repeated, almost not believing her. "Of what exactly?"

"Vladimir Makarov's death."

Yuri shook his head, kicking himself mentally for his stupidity. "That's your plan? Execute my friend in front of me, and then kill me too? I should have known better"

Lynsa chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh no, that's way too boring."

She twisted the rusty lock, and swung the old cell gate open. Pointing a pistol at him, she motioned him out of his cell.

"I'm just going to have a little chat with him." Lynsa explained, a glint of delight in her eyes. "And then he'll going to kill himself. Simple as that."

She gave a wicked smile. "Much more entertaining, don't you agree?"


End file.
